


Let the Wine of Friendship Never Run Dry

by emmaliza



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A decade on, Marius begins to think his friends are still alive. Cosette doesn't know what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the Wine of Friendship Never Run Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this kink meme prompt: "I want Marius imagining his friends are still alive - he sees them, he talks to them, he debates with them. It freaks the hell out of Cosette. What she does (Does she stay? Does she leave him?) is up to you."
> 
> Trigger warnings for hallucinations and mental health problems.

The sad thing is, if it had happened earlier perhaps she would have known what to do about it.

(That, she soon realises, is a comforting lie.)

* * *

They have been married for about a decade, with five beautiful children when it begins. Nothing triggers it; there is no sudden change in their lives. It just happens.

He is missing from breakfast one morning and she goes to search for him; she looks among the gardens, despite the fact she considers it too cold a December morning to be in them. She hears Marius muttering something to himself. That is not completely out of character: Marius is still the type of man to dwell, to lay in reverie, to think, and sometimes that constant thought escapes his lips without him really meaning to. She finds it rather sweet. So sweet in fact, she gives herself a few moments to conceal herself behind a gate and listen, discover what strange ideas are racing through her husband's mind today.

"I understand. I didn't mean to forget, really, I just... I'm glad you're taking this so well. Other people wouldn't." There is a smile in Marius's voice, and frown on Cosette's face. Is he talking to someone? Who is in their garden at this time of the morning? Marius rarely speaks to anyone but her, their children or close friends in the garden, and Marius has very few close friends (left).

"I always liked how sensible you are," she hears him speak again after a lengthy pause. She didn't hear anyone respond to his last statement. "I'll get on it right away."

"Marius?" She reveals herself, and sees Marius is alone. She is puzzled.

"Cosette!" He rushes over to embrace her. "I thought you were still asleep."

"I was, but then I awoke," she says. "We were awaiting you at breakfast. I thought you had gone for a walk to clear your mind. But... did I hear you speak with someone?"

"Oh, only‒" He looks over his shoulder, and suddenly freezes. She frowns.

"Love? Are you alright?"

He turns back to her. "Oh, yes, I am fine. Like you said. A walk to clear my mind." He smiles warmly at her. "To breakfast?"

She returns his smile and takes his hand, and they slowly make their way out of the garden. Halfway there, she feels a slight weakness in her step and squeezes his hand to steady herself.

He turns to her with a look of perfect concern. "Darling? Is there something wrong?"

"Hmm? Oh, no. It is nothing." She regains her strength, and they make their way back to the house.

* * *

Perhaps some women would consider five children too many, but she is not one of them. Admittedly the process of birthing them all was far from pleasant, but when she thinks about forsaking even one of her beautiful angels a sharp pain stabs in her chest. Besides, she quite enjoys the pride she feels when high society look at her lithe, fragile frame and wonder how on Earth she managed to bear so many children. Is that vain of her? Oh well.

It _also_ gives her an excuse to engage in rather enjoyable activities with her beautiful husband, so there is that to be said.

They don't keep many domestic staff, and Cosette would like to keep more; this is one of the few things she and her husband argue over. Marius does not want their children to grow up believing they have the right to be waited on hand and foot, but Cosette wants to provide work for local people. They seem to have a compromise. They have a cook to prepare the meals, but they serve them to their children themselves. ("Doesn't this mean we're waiting on them hand and foot?" she once teased Marius. "We're their parents; we're supposed to wait on them hand and foot," was his response.)

"Thank you Maman," says Corinne, accepting her porridge with a gracious smile. She is a lovely girl with a solid, calming presence, and a heart as big as the house they inhabit. Having just passed ten she is their eldest, and performs the duties of the Oldest Sibling admirably. Cosette couldn't be more proud of her.

Then there is Jean-Georges, seven and named for both their fathers, who thanks her with more seriousness than is really required. Jerome, five, who also nods far too seriously. Yvette is three and beams with a "Thank you, Papa!" when Marius hands over hers. Patrice is not quite two and Cosette still feeds him soft foods specially.

"So," Marius says as he and the children start to enjoy their breakfast (Cosette, alas, knows she must wait until Patrice is finished). "What are all of your plans for today?"

"Madame Poulin promised she would bring over a new book for me today, Papa," says Corinne, smiling. "About history. She was talking to me yesterday about Poland, and..."

"That sounds nice," Marius says. "Actually I have a friend who knows a lot about Poland; I suppose he could..."

Marius trails off, and Cosette can only stare. She always used to catch him doing that, in the early days of their marriage, and she would take his hand or take him in her arms to reassure him. But it's been _years_ , and she's forgotten what to do. She's stunned.

Corinne, wise soul she is, sees the expressions on her parents' faces and gathers it would be a sage idea to let the conversation drop. She instead admonishes Jerome on how he is smearing porridge across his face, something he seems to resent.

Cosette realises Patrice has finished his stewed apple and embraces the opportunity to turn to her own breakfast. It doesn't last long however. She suddenly feels very sick.

* * *

Whether they admit it or not, they are all excited by Wednesdays. Cosette waits patiently, but her children are not necessarily so virtuous. Eventually they hear the bell ring, and Cosette grins, rushing to the lobby.

"'Chetta!" she gives a delighted cry, kissing her friend on the cheek. "How good it is to see you!"

"The same, but Cosette, you really must invest in a more inviting patio. Dear Michel almost frightened himself to death out there."

Cosette laughs and looks down at little Michel, who is shying away and trying to kick his mother subtly (he does not succeed in the subtlety). "My apologies. We've been meaning to get around to it, but really my husband and I, we can be quite irresponsible."

It was Marius who found Musichetta. After the barricades, he mentioned how Joly and Bossuet had this mistress who they used to go on about, and soon he discovered her sharing his grief. Once they found out 'Chetta was with child, they offered to help her; Marius insisted on using his wealth to help the heir of one of his dead friends. Cosette agreed with him, and soon found herself very fond of Musichetta anyway, with her sharp tongue and bright demeanour. She is like family now, and Michel, like another son. Most people think she is Marius's mistress, and the three of them find the idea hilarious.

Speaking of Marius. "Musichetta!" He rushes to greet her, but once he is actually within proximity, he hesitates and uncomfortably shakes her hand. Oh, Marius. "You're early."

"Am I? I didn't really know we had a set time for this," she says, and he seems to accept that.

"Anyway, I have a new book I wanted to show you; it's about this Italian socialite..."

Ah, books. Musichetta and Marius's friendship is built mainly on a love of books. Cosette isn't adverse to the odd book herself, but not the same extent as those two. 'Chetta cuts him off.

"Lovely as that would be, I feel obliged to see your children first. Weren't we all going to have lunch together?"

"Oh... right." And as if summoned, the children come out in a parade, Madame Poulin behind them holding Patrice. They give greetings to Musichetta before turning their attention to Michel. Corinne says hello with a kind smile. Jean-George shakes his hand with far more formality than is necessary (Cosette must speak about that habit). Yvette grins and waves excitedly, like she hasn't seen him in months. Jerome whispers his hello, before going to stand as close to Michel as is possible (Jerome adores Michel, for some reason they have never quite discovered). Cosette can't help but find the children's interactions sweet, as well as a little hilarious.

They lunch, Musichetta starting to tell a story about her friend Helene which makes Marius blush and Cosette remind her _The children are present, dear._ Halfway through, Musichetta eyes her oddly.

"Dear Cosette, I fancy you've put on some weight."

"Oh. Well how polite of you to say so."

"Don't be like that. I simply mean: are you with child again? Because honestly, this is getting a little out of hand."

Cosette laughs at that. But then she thinks. Is she pregnant? She's felt some of the symptoms; sickness in the morning, weakness while she strolls. She hasn't really thought about it.

"I ‒ not as far as I know?" Marius doesn't seem to have noticed their conversation; he is trying to talk to Jean-Georges about Goethe, and Jean is clearly not understanding but nodding along enthusiastically anyway. "I suppose it's possible," and she smirks. "We can be quite enthusiastic in our affections."

"So you insist on putting me off my meal," says 'Chetta. "Honestly, I don't know how you manage it. Five children? I adore my Michel, don't get me wrong, but I gave birth and it was truly horrific and harrowing. The thought of doing so again makes me shudder. You are made of stronger stuff than me, Madame Pontmercy."

Day becomes afternoon, and then evening; Michel lays in his mother's lap, looking over at Corinne's drawings, while Jean-Georges and Jerome play a card game and Marius vigilantly watches for signs of cheating. Yvette is asleep against Cosette's shoulder and Patrice is Cosette's arms; she sings lullabies to him absent-mindedly.

Musichetta yawns and stretches. "You know little one, I believe we should be getting home soon," she tells Michel.

"There's really no need; we have plenty of spare rooms," Cosette tells her.

"Oh no, I wouldn't," Musichetta waves her away. "Come now love, say goodbye."

Cosette is not so easily dissuaded, however. "Marius, tell her!"

A strange tight smile crosses Marius lips. "You really should go home," he says. Cosette is aghast. _Traitor!_ But then‒

"After all, Michel, your fathers will be worried about you."

Cosette feels like all the air has been sucked from her lungs. Musichetta does not flinch, but he has never been one to show pain openly. Cosette tries to examine Marius's face, to see if he realises what he just said, but he is not even looking at them. So then she turns to 'Chetta, tries to mouth apologies, but 'Chetta silences her with a wave of her hand. "Come now Michel. Say goodbye."

Michel does so, and the whole family see the two out the door. Once Musichetta and Michel are gone, the children run off; Cosette passes Patrice to Madame Poulin, and it is only her and her husband.

"Why did you say that?" she asks.

Marius seems puzzled. "Say what?"

"About dear Michel's fathers. Was it ‒ I don't know ‒ some sort of sick joke?"

"I ‒ I don't know what you mean."

He laughs uncomfortably, but Cosette does not find it funny. "What you did was incredibly cruel."

"Cosette‒" He flinches, and raises a hand to his head.

"Marius? Love, are you alright?"

He grips her shoulders to steady himself. "I‒" He buries his face into her shoulder, and she wraps her arms around him; he starts to tremor and she strokes his back comfortingly. _Oh my dear, what is wrong?_ Soon he is sobbing, and there is nothing she can say; she can only hold him and hope he will talk to her. "Oh god," he chokes, plaintive, and for a long moment after that he is silent.

Eventually his quivering subsides and Cosette can relax her grip, though she makes sure he is still holding her tight. "Darling?" she asks.

Marius takes a deep breath and pulls himself upright, looking her in the eye once more. "My apologies. I think I'm just tired." He kisses her on the forehead. "I think I will go to bed early this evening."

He kisses her on the lips before he goes, robbing her of the chance to express her confusion. Her questions are far from answered and suddenly she feels so cold.

* * *

Sometimes she likes to surprise him, and today she does so by bringing up a platter of wine and cheese to his office. Yes, she fully intends to distract him from his work. However, this plan is rather interfered with by him not being there when she goes. _Curses._ She sighs and puts the platter aside on the table. He's probably just excused himself to the bathroom; she opts to wait. Whilst waiting, she starts peering at his documents out of boredom. There are translations he's done in a foreign language, and legal cases in completely incomprehensible language. These do not entertain her terribly.

With further peering, she finds something else; handwritten notes on loose scraps of paper. She looks at them, frowning, and decides the text looks a little odd. It is clearly Marius's hand, but somewhat different than usual, as if he were trying to imitate another. Cosette hopes he is not considering another career as a forger. Both because she doesn't want to deal with the effects of his criminality and because, from the looks of things, he wouldn't be very good at it. When she remembers to actually _read_ said notes, however, they do not contain anything particularly dangerous. Her husband seems to be taking up poetry.

_And the green trees shield red flowers_   
_And the dark earth goes forever down_   
_And the song of the birds goes on and on_   
_Until it's a squawk, a scream, a cry‒_

She frowns. It bothers her that her husband has written something so morbid.

"Cosette!" she jumps a little at the sound of his voice. "What are you doing in my office?"

"Ah," she turns around and grins. "I was thinking we could have a little snack together! I brought wine and cheese."

He frowns. "I have to work."

"Oh, you always say that," she waves her hand. "Surely you can get away with procrastinating for one afternoon?"

He seems conflicted. She waits for him to sort it out. "By the way," she adds casually. "Are you considering taking up a third career? Because some would consider such indecisiveness a flaw in a man."

He frowns as if he has no idea what she's on about. "I ‒ what?" he asks, and she considers admonishing him for his rudeness, but chooses against it.

"These," she says, brandishing the notes at him. "I didn't know you had an interest in poetry. What else are you hiding from me, hmm?"

He comes over and scans the papers quickly. "Oh no, those aren't mine. I mean, I didn't write them," he says. "Jehan must have left them behind by accident. Or maybe on purpose, I don't know. He knows I like to read."

Cosette feels the smile slip from her face. She's being trying to ignore her husband's strange behaviour for awhile now, passing it off as her misinterpreting or mishearing, or him suddenly forgetting, or being uncharacteristically callous. But this, though... there is no explanation. "Marius," she says with a slight creak in her voice. She doesn't know what to say.

"It is unimportant," he says, taking the notes from her hand. "I'll give them back to him later."

She feels as if she might cry. "Marius ‒ Jehan is..."

He stares at her with innocent confusion, as if he truly has no idea what she could possibly be about to say. Marius is no actor; she knows that look is sincere. Perhaps it's selfish, but she can't bring herself to tell the truth; she knows it will hurt him. And there is nothing more devastating for her than to see him hurt. She inhales deeply and looks away.

"I was going to distract you," she murmurs, suddenly remembering her purpose for being here. "I wanted us to have a little picnic inside your office, like newlyweds again."

"Cosette?" He gently lifts her chin to face him again. "Oh ‒ it's a lovely idea, it really is, but I just have so much work! Please don't be upset..."

She flinches when she realises he can see the distress on her face. The irony is she would usually not be above faking such dismay to persuade him; she _should_ be trying to persuade him, but she feels as if she would not enjoy the afternoon the way she had planned. "No, no, it's fine. I understand." She takes the platter in her hands again. "Another time perhaps?" She kisses him on the cheek and leaves.

She returns the cheese to the kitchen and the wine to the cellar. She thinks of Musichetta's words earlier, and decides it probably wouldn't be a good idea for her to drink so much wine anyway. Just in case.

* * *

For a few weeks, nothing happens. Marius is as normal. Cosette can almost pretend she doesn't know what's happening; that Marius _wasn't_ suddenly convinced, after eleven years, that one of his friends was still alive, and that she's not scared out of her wits by the fact. Of course she doesn't succeed entirely, but enough that she doesn't break down crying in front of the children.

It doesn't last. He goes out one day and doesn't return for hours; he doesn't tell her where he's going, and as the night wears on she grows more and more anxious. Corinne asks her if everything is alright, and of course she smiles and says yes, everything's fine; Papa will be home soon, don't you worry. Corinne doesn't seem particularly comforted, but she takes Yvette in hand and soothes her, while Cosette embraces Jerome and Jean-Georges (Patrice is already asleep). She gnaws her lip.

Eventually Madame Poulin puts the children to bed, whilst Cosette paces back and forth. _Where is he?_ Suddenly she feels her legs start to give out, and returns quickly to the couch. She takes deep breaths and lays a hand over her stomach.

Suddenly the door swings open. "Marius!" She jumps to her feet and rushes toward him. The closer she gets, she realises ‒ his walk is slow; he's _limping_ , and there is blood across his face and knuckles.

"Oh god, what happened?!" He hisses as she runs a thumb across his cheek. He has bruises, cuts and grazes; they're all shallow, so she needn't worry about seeking medical assistance, but that doesn't help when it comes to the question of what happened to him.

"Please don't be mad," he mutters, spitting aside some of the blood that's gushing from his nose. "I didn't mean to, really, I swear. It was stupid. I just..."

"Love, just start at the beginning," she says, raising his bloodied fingers to her lips and kissing them. "Who did this to you?"

"I didn't ‒ I didn't get names," he says. "It was ‒ Bahorel. He got into a fight like usual. I wanted to break it up. I didn't really succeed?"

Cosette goes dead. "Marius..." And she has no idea how he got these bruises. Perhaps he really got in a fight, perhaps he did this to himself. Both ideas terrify her. The only thing she knows isn't true is what he's telling her. "...Bahorel is dead. You know that, right?"

For a second he just stares. He doesn't understand. He cannot comprehend. Cosette doesn't know what to do.

Then he laughs.

"I thought you'd say something like that," he says. "But really, it's not his fault. Bahorel is... Bahorel. I shouldn't have gotten involved. Please forgive me?"

"I‒" She's speechless. What is she supposed to say to that?

He pouts at her, and leans forward to kiss her hair. She feels blood start to drip onto her forehead. He seems to realise that a moment later. "Oh, sorry," he says bashfully. "I should go clean myself. Before I make any more of a mess."

"Wait, Marius, dearest‒"

But he's gone. Cosette wipes the blood from her brow, and feels tears begin to form at the corners of her eyes. She cannot repress them; no matter what she does, they fall helplessly down her cheeks.

Well. At least she's alone now.

* * *

He keeps going missing. It's terrifying. There are whole days where he's just not there, where she spends all her time worrying, and then all of a sudden he reappears without explanation, and she's just so grateful he's alright that she can't demand one.

Today his hat and coat are still in place, which she's gathered means he's still in the house somewhere. Marius may be losing his mind, but not his manners. So she searches for him, rummaging through rooms as if she's lost a necklace or something. She curses just what a large house they live in. He could be _anywhere_.

She turns from one room to find Jean-Georges underneath her feet. "My boy!" she exclaims. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Jean-Georges frowns at her. "I wanted to ask you that. You look upset, Mama."

"Oh, no, it is nothing." She smiles at him. "Your father and I were playing a silly game, and now I don't know where he is. But he'll turn up eventually. Really, I just need to find him so he can't gloat at me."

Really, she doesn't know when she became such a good liar. Jean-Georges smiles at her. "Would you like me to help?"

"Oh no, he'll say I cheated. No, why don't you go downstairs and draw some more, hmm?" She leans down to kiss the top of his head, and he nods, before marching off as if ordered. She sighs.

Eventually she does find Marius, in the cellar. He's sitting against the wall, arms wrapped around his legs, face buried against his knees. The light is not on. Cosette frowns.

"Marius? What are you doing here in the dark?" She goes over to him as he slowly lifts his head. His eyes do not quite focus; his neck rocks from side to side.

"Cosette," he mutters as she crouches before him. "Hello."

She can smell wine on his breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a ray of light hit a bottle. "Love, have you been drinking?" she asks in disbelief. This is not something Marius does.

"No." He then hiccups, which is just a terrible cliché. "...Maybe. A little." He buries his head in his knees again, ashamed. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my idea!"

Perhaps she should see the warning sign there, start wondering who else's idea it could possibly be. "Of course not, love, let's just get you to bed."

She tries to help him up, wrapping an arm around his back, but that does not work. "I didn't even drink that much," he complains, which she regards with healthy skepticism. "Really! It was just ‒ Grantaire..."

The chill settles over her. _Oh God, please no. No not now._ "Shh, darling. Bed."

"You know Grantaire." She never met the man. "He ‒ I was worried, trying to take care of my friends for once, so I joined him... I didn't mean to do this, and ‒ Grantaire! Don't say things about my wife!"

She jumps. Marius is staring at a spot in the corner, glaring fiercely. She lays a hand on his shoulder. "Marius... love there's no-one there."

He doesn't seem to hear her. He just keeps staring. She's petrified. "Look at me," she pleads with him, and slowly his head turns back to face her. "Marius, Grantaire is dead," she says. "Bahorel is dead. Jehan is dead. All those people you knew ‒ all those friends of yours ‒ it's been almost twelve years darling; they are all dead. They fought on the barricades, and lost; you were the only survivor. Don't you remember?"

It's harsh and cruel, no matter how much she doesn't want it to be, but she has no other choice. He has to realise. She is trying desperately to force the truth upon him. He stares blankly, uncomprehendingly, then flinches. His eyes move to the corner again, and she wants to sob.

"Marius, please," she says. "I know what you've been through. I know what it's been like. And I have always tried to be here for you, to help you, but this: my God, dear Marius, do you have any idea how you frighten me? Angel, your friends are gone, and I am sorry. But I am still here. I am your wife, I am the mother of your children. You are loved, and you are needed, so please, please don't leave me like this."

She can hear tears in her voice. Marius whimpers, and buries his head in his knees again. She looks up to the dark ceiling. Perhaps she shouldn't have said that; perhaps it is wrong of her, to speak with him as if he has control over this, when she doubts that is the case. But what else can she do? Apart from him, the only person to plead with is God above.

"I'm sorry," he mutters. She doesn't know who he's speaking to. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just‒" his breath hitches and he finally looks up at her again. "‒I'm lost Cosette. So lost. Where am I?"

"You're in our cellar, love." She knows that's no answer. "Come on. Please, sleep. Grantaire ‒ Grantaire can deal with his own damn drunkenness."

That seems to comfort Marius, and he lets her pull him up by the hand. She holds him tight and prays she won't lose her grip.

* * *

She grows careful. Very rarely does she let him out of her sight. She smiles like a schoolgirl, telling him she doesn't want to spend a single moment outside his presence, as if they don't both know the real reason she watches over him so carefully. Perhaps he doesn't. He seems to know there is something wrong with him, but never seems to recognise his delusions as being just that ‒ delusions.

1844 begins and Cosette approaches their room in her nightgown. She hears Marius talking. "I'm not sure why you're asking me about this," he says. "You don't need my permission. I'm not her father."

A pause. He continues. "Yes, I wouldn't ask her actual father either. But..." he sighs sadly. "Courfeyrac, you are my best friend. I love you deeply. But I... worry about her."

She cringes. Courfeyrac. Marius has spoken many times of that man; his closest companion, who he wanted to be best man at their wedding, who dear Corinne was named for. It is obvious Marius adored him, and from what she's heard, Cosette likes to think she would have too. It is surprising he wasn't the first one Marius saw. Still, who is this _her_ they speak of? "You are not quite known for your virtue," says Marius quietly.

Another pause. "No, of course not, I trust you!" Marius exclaims. "I just don't want her to get hurt." _Pause._. "Yes, I'm being a hypocrite, but ‒ that's _why_ I don't want her hurt, damn it. She deserves better than that. She deserves better than me."

_Darling, no,_ she wants to say, but she still feels like she should listen to rest of this. Are they talking about her? Somehow she doubts it. And Marius is the only one speaking; why is she saying 'they'? "I know," Marius sighs. "Do you love her?"

Silence.

"Alright then." Cosette can hear his smile. "Go. You have my blessing. Just please: be to her what I never could be."

"Marius?" Cosette, finally steps inside. "Darling what's going on?"

"Cosette!" And he rushes over to embrace her. "I have wonderful news! My friend Courfeyrac‒" He pulls back and must see the look of despair upon her face. "Love, what's wrong?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing," she says, forcing a smile onto her face. "I just ‒ heard talking. Should I be worried about you inviting strange men into our bedroom?"

"What? Oh no, just, Courfeyrac: he respects nothing." Every word he says in a dagger in her. "But the news ‒ he came here to tell me about, well, his _interest_ in Éponine. I mean, at first I was worried, because Courfeyrac is far from the sort of man who falls in love once for life, but ‒ oh Cosette, he told me how he feels about her and all his plans to help her, and ‒ oh God Cosette, I am thrilled! For they are going to be happy! Don't you see my love, they are going to be so happy!"

He's almost hysterical. _Éponine._ Marius told her that name, about the girl who loved him and he never noticed, about how she had died for him, about all his guilt. She had sounded so familiar Cosette wondered if she was mad, dreaming up some connection to a girl she never knew. It took years to break through the haze surrounding her childhood, to remember the inn, and the girl so soft and spoiled, who could have been her sister.

"Marius I think we are having another child," she blurts out.

This seems to shock him.

She sighs and looks down. "I have felt many of the symptoms. Sickness in the morning and strange cravings and... It's been weeks actually, I kept meaning to tell you." But then she started hiding it, because he was growing ever weaker with his sickness. But she knows he cannot lie forever, and perhaps some part of her hopes this will break him from this spell.

Slowly, he starts to grin. "Oh Cosette that's brilliant!" He hugs her again, lifting her off her feet and kissing her cheek passionately.

"Is it?" she asks before he lets her go.

Once they are on even ground, he frowns at her. "You're not happy?" he asks.

"No, no love, I just..." she sighs. She should be happy with the prospect of a new child; thrilled even. A year earlier she would have been. But now she's so frightened, so uncertain, and does not know if she can possibly care for a baby, her other children, and her husband at the same time. "Many people would consider the number of children we have to be enough. Too many, even."

He smiles. "But we love them," he says, as if that is the answer to everything.

"We do." She loves her children, and she loves him. She prays that will be enough.

What shall she do? Better women would leave him if they could, him and all the ghosts who follow, for fear of their lives being consumed by dead men ‒ for fear of their _children's_ lives being consumed by dead men. She doesn't think Marius would ever be any sort of threat, but what sort of life will her boys and girls have when they must share their home with nine or more ghosts? Their house is big, but not that big.

Yet. _And I will never go away,_ she promised him, and really she cannot go. She couldn't just leave him to his fate, mad and alone. Call her selfish, but she still loves him terribly.

She sighs and wraps her arms around his waist. "You are right," she murmurs. "Everything will be fine. We will be happy."

_Lord, let us be happy._

* * *

While they expect a child, everything is better. Yvette and Jean-Georges are thrilled, Yvette forever trying to talk to the baby, wanting to trick it into making her its favourite sister, and Jean-Georges dedicating himself to helping his mother however possible. Corinne and Jerome are a little more reticent, but still happy. Patrice matures from infancy to childhood just in time. 'Chetta comes over frequently, so Cosette has someone to complain at. All is well.

One night Cosette struggles to sleep through the kicking in her womb, and Marius rubs her belly soothingly, trying to calm the baby. "Easy, easy now. Your Mama needs to get a good night sleep for you to grow up healthy and strong."

She smiles. She's not sure this is actually doing anything, but it's comforting to hear her husband speak that way. Eventually she does fall asleep, with Marius's head buried in her neck and his legs entertwined with hers, one arm over her stomach protectively.

But all is not well. Before she drifts off, she hears him mutter "For Christ's sake; my wife is pregnant, can't I ignore the revolution for a little while?"

* * *

Cosette gives birth at the end of summer. It hurts as much as ever, but Marius is there all the while, holding her hand, reassuring her.

Their daughter is named Angelique.


End file.
